Postbellum
by luna and sol
Summary: This story is a first-person account of George Weasley after the war, specifically after the Battle of Hogwarts and the death of his brother. It is a three-dimensional analysis into how his life would be post-twin, postbellum - how he would cope not in the eyes of the world, but through the eyes of George himself.
1. Chapter 1

Postbellum

CHAPTER 1

How do I begin?

How far back do I go? Do you need me to start from the beginning, from my first hazy memories of strange words, or the warmth of being held, or getting sparked when I chewed on a wand someone set next to me?

Or can I start from the end, from the soundless screams and the unfeeling cold and the pain, the unimaginable pain in the air forever lit by green streams of light?

Whenever I begin my story, from either end or anywhere in between, it will be about him. For the rest of my life, my story will always be about him, never me. No one will look at me and see me, will look at me without pity, will smile at me except out of compassion.

You probably don't even recognize me without him, do you? Don't worry, I don't recognize myself either.

But despite that, how do you think I feel now that I'm only half of what many saw as a single person? Bet you don't think I'm so funny now, do you?

I still run the shop, selling our staples to Hogwarts kids, keeping up appearances and coming out with a new product every six months or so. Might have to stop that soon, though – I'm running out of usable material from our brainstorming sessions. I just haven't had the touch since the incident.

Oh, don't look at me like that. I know what you're thinking – poor thing, he was left behind to deal with the aftermath, all alone, however does he face his reflection in the morning, that kind of thing. Don't. Just don't. It's painful enough to get it from your own mother, let alone every stranger on the street.

Yes, everyone around here knows me now, even if it's only that they notice something's "off" about me. It's not the bandage I still have to wear looping around my forehead, though. Many have those now, or better yet, scars that will never heal – some clearly visible, some not.

No, something else is more obviously missing, although no one ever says it out loud. As if I don't hear the concerned whispers as I pass. I do still have one good ear, you know.

But you know what? I think they miss him more than I do. They miss the comfort of a good laugh, of someone who mocks death even as he, as well as the rest of us, is and are forced to stare it in the face. He was always the funny one, you know. Even when we were little, he always got more laughs, although we seemed to come as a package deal.

Yes, a package of mischief and hilarity and good-heartedness and casual disrespect for authority. That's what everyone saw you know, even what we saw in ourselves sometimes. They never called us noble or brave or fierce while he was alive. But now, somehow, we both are – him in dying in the slaughter, and me for surviving without him, I guess.

Honestly, I'm a coward, and I don't deserve the compliments. But I take them without arguing in order to comfort those who give them. It's how we all go on, us guilty ones, the survivors. We show our respect for the dead, as if everyone who died is a symbol of the triumph of good over evil.

But they're not. My brother isn't, Lavender isn't, Colin isn't, Dobby isn't. They're not symbols. They're people, people who were destroyed by a fight that wasn't even theirs. And no, before you say so, it wasn't everyone's fight. It was the fight of a few over ultimate power, one that sucked in thousands on both sides, decimating our entire world in the process.

That's how I look at it now. It's how I looked at it then, too; I've never been much of an incendiary, actually. It was him who got us involved in all the pranks. Don't even ask me how many points we lost because of him or how many detentions he got us in, though somehow no one remembers those after everything.

And it was him who wanted to start PotterWatch and bust out under Umbridge and join the battle. It was him because despite everything, he had such a sense of justice, something that I never had. I'm a coward, as I said before. I was going to be in Hufflepuff, can you imagine that? The hat said it was a good choice for me, though the entire bloody family has been Gryffindor through and through. The only reason I begged for it is because of the look he gave me from where he already sat at the table next to Percy. I didn't want to let him down.

But I did, you see. I should have been standing right next to him like always. I could have warned him, or pulled him out of the way or told him to pay better attention, not get distracted like he always did and get himself hurt. The first year we played Quidditch he got hit by a bludger a few times every practice because he kept watching the game. He even fell off his broom once, and I almost killed myself catching him. He was three hundred feet in the air, what was I supposed to do? Let him fall? We both had broken legs after that, but I didn't mind. I would've felt like mine was broken anyway.

I bet that sounds real sweet, right? Oh he saved his twin from falling, how kind! How brotherly! How absolutely precious, now that he's passed on, you know. I bet memories like this just help him through the day. No.

They don't. They just fill my mind and I can't get rid of them no matter how much I try. I couldn't get them to stop when I walked out of the Great Hall after I said goodbye to him for the last time, and I haven't been able to since. The first time it happened, in the quiet while, as we learned later, Harry was in the Forbidden Forest, I walked onto the bridge, picked my way over bodies made of stone and many different kinds of flesh. I stepped on the hair of a Death Eater – dead, unconscious, I didn't check. The hair at least seemed alive, getting tangled up with my foot. I didn't pause to look back when I stepped forward and heard a ripping sound. I just made my way to the edge of the Bridge and looked out over the chasm, looked down into it and saw my life, me, just floating gently down into the nothing. How would it feel, to let go, like he did?

Something tickled my ankle, and I reached down to pull it away. Strands of hair connected to a Death Eater mask and hood, ghoulish-looking but harmless as it shimmered in the lights of fires and fading spells. I detached it from my shoelaces and pants and held it for a moment, then…

Oh, I bet you think I dropped it into the abyss, right? Let it go, banishing evil instead of killing myself in my grief. Establishing myself as a survivor, devoting myself to the rebuilding of our lives after everything passed and creating a world where good flourished. Well, no, I didn't, I threw it back onto the Bridge and walked away from it.

It didn't change my mind, you know. It was my own fears, me being a coward again, that stopped me. I fear Death, unlike him. And I saw no reason to drop the mask, to pretend like I was making a difference or making a statement – something like "that evil would be destroyed forever after this battle was over" or "that all of our sacrifices would mean something in the end." No, I put it back on the Bridge because no matter if I got rid of it or not, there were hundreds more just like it, all over the castle, on live bodies and dead ones. There will always be more just like it, no matter how many of our bodies pile up.


	2. Chapter 2

Postbellum

CHAPTER 2

Sorry I got so dramatic there. I have those moments sometimes – moments that you would expect from a "heartbroken" twenty year old. Dramatic and emotional and an absolute mess, yeah I know it's what you allow me to be. If I was anything more than that it would make you uncomfortable, right? You want my family and the other families who lost someone to mourn in private and "be strong" in public as penance for surviving.

But I don't always miss him. He might be your hero – once in a while, he's mine too. But he was also the person who forced me to be part of a duo I never agreed to, half of a person, like I said before. And now he's robbed me of the rest of my life. I'll always feel guilty for feeling happy, for moving on, for not thinking about him every moment. What if I forget to put a stinkbomb on his grave on our birthday, or flowers on the anniversary, or one of Mom's balls of yarn on Christmas? How would I be looked at by what remains of my family? How will I look at myself?

I will be haunted for always because of him. How is that fair?

God, sorry, that sounds pathetic. I don't want to make you too uncomfortable, I'm just trying to tell the truth. I don't want to seem self-pitying. I know that I got lucky, that with as many members of the family as were fighting that day, we were lucky we didn't lose more Weasleys, or even the ones closest to us – like Fleur, Hermione, or Harry, or the Weasley extensions as I like to call them.

Yes, we were very lucky indeed, which is why I think we all spend so much time talking about Fred. It's how Mom deals with it, rehashing the same old stories, the ones that everyone smiles or giggles at even though they're not amusing anymore. Just like everyone outside the house, she seems to have forgotten all of the times that she sent us to our room or made us scrub the roof tiles for turning Ginny's hair blue. She forgets the part of the rescuing Harry story where she yelled at us and threatened to kill us, basically.

One time when I was feeling angry, I don't remember why, I brought that up to her. I told her that she was leaving out a part, that she was ignoring a huge part of who he was and disrespecting his memory because of it. I told her that neither one of us were perfect angels, that we caused trouble and that she was fed up with us most of the time. I raised my voice at my own mother, and I've never seen her so angry. She put me up against a wall by the collar and drew her hand back to slap me, but stopped just short. I think it was because I can't help but remind her of him, like I'm his living ghost.

She just turned away and went back to baking her pie. Everyone else in the room – Hermione and Ron, Dad, Percy – didn't know what to do. Hermione finally came up to me and took my hand, leading me into the living room and sitting with me on the couch. She shooed everyone else away and closed the door. She gave me the look she usually reserved for Malfoy and told me I was despicable, that I should be ashamed of myself.

How could I do that to my mother, who had barely recovered from Percy's betrayal before losing another one of her children, this time forever? How could I insult Fred's memory like that, my own brother, my own twin? It went on for a few minutes, getting faster and louder as she made more accusations.

She ended with "Well what do you have to say for yourself?"

I told her nothing. I had nothing to say, because no one ever asked my opinion anyway. No one wanted me to say anything unless it was a funny or touching story about him. They just looked at me with sadness in their eyes, and never for too long. Most just looked away in the first place.

But Hermione didn't. She looked me in the eye the entire time I talked and after. Then she sat down next to me again, done with her pacing, apparently. She laid her hand on my arm, like they do in the movies she and Harry have been showing us on one of Dad's machines.

"I lost a brother too, you know. Almost lost several, actually, and parents as well in your mom and dad. I still can't find my own parents in Australia, and they aren't part of the magical world. I almost lost Ron, and even though he might not look like much, he's still someone I love. I almost lost Harry, the closest thing to a sibling I ever had since my mom came into my room when I was five and told me my little sister wasn't coming home.

I don't mean to try to rob you of your grief. I just want to let you know that we all miss him, and you can't blame your mother for trying to keep him alive in her memories. We have to keep them alive that way, all of them. We have to tell Teddy about his parents and Bill and Fleur's new baby about his uncle and all our children about Dumbledore and Sirius and Snape and even Voldemort. So we have to keep them alive, George, we just have to."

That's all that happened. She didn't kiss me or anything, are you crazy? Ron would have killed me. But I did listen to her, I promise. That's why I don't bring these things up anymore, to Mom or anyone. I let them forget the bad times if they want. It's their right, after all. I know that I'll remember everything about him forever. I couldn't forget if I tried.

I hope you aren't tired of me yet. I know I can be kind of depressing. Ironic, isn't it? What was it that Harry told me once? He said that Dumbledore said that happiness can always be found if you just turn on the light, or something like that. He told me that my brother and I had been that light for so many people, that our joke shop had been the saving grace for many of the Hogwarts kids stuck there under Snape. Well I'm glad I could help somehow, that's what I told him. Anything for the war effort.

He's a brave one, Harry. I know you already know that, but he really is, in lots of ways you wouldn't expect. I'm very glad that he has Ginny to help him through, although he annoys her most of the time. He's still getting over a lot of things, like all of us are I guess. I just lost one brother, but he lost that and much more. He keeps on losing people, like some kind of bad luck charm.

I think he and I handle it similarly though, forging on, trying to still be symbols for people, although I'm doing it in a much smaller way. I'd hate to be him, an Auror in training devoting his entire life to hunting down people who are already trying to kill him. I don't think he even wants to do it, but everyone expected it after he defeated Voldemort, just like they expected me to still be a jokester.

Speaking of being a jokester, so a dotty old wizard walks into a bar… ah, forget it.


	3. Chapter 3

Postbellum

Chapter 3

Another day. The sun rose again, the birds chirped again. You'd think they'd stop bothering, it's not like I particularly enjoy their company. Maybe they want us so realize that life goes on, that their families have recovered and ours should to.

Wow, that sounded a bit crazy. My mother's already threatened me with a therapist, I can't go around saying – or even thinking – things like that. They'll lock me up in a loony bin for a few months, it's not like it's anything strange around here. Xenophilius got locked up for nearly a year after the Ministry of Magic put him on trial for ratting out Harry, Ron, and 'Mione. Declared him unable to handle the mental pressures of losing his daughter, recommended rest and therapy.

I can understand it in his case. Everyone knew he'd lost it years ago, that Luna was always kind of off. Loony Lovegood, I think that's what some Slytherins started calling her. Definitely stuck, but she ended up being one of the best ones in the end, took down half a dozen Death Eaters without flinching and getting Neville through everything. I wonder how they're doing?

Sorry, got distracted. It's off to work for me. Saturday, busiest day of the week for me at the shop, and with all the kids on vacation from Hogwarts I've got double or even triple the usual number of customers than on a regular weekend. The young ones are the ones that buy the most, that save their allowance or their candy money or sneak it from their parents pockets to afford the best stuff.

Puking Pastilles are my best seller. A good vomit at Hogwarts will get you out of classes for at least a day. I think Madame Pomfrey knows that it´s from the shop; the puking´s always immediate, always violent, but only lasts an hour or so before the kid´s "all of a sudden" feeling better. But she can't risk sending the one kid who really does have a stomach bug or the flu or the plague back to class, so she gives them a pass. Back in Snape's day we would come to class and half of them would be fainting or puking into their cauldrons. It's like we could hear the galleons running through our fingers!

There's good money in jokes and pranks and mild potions, I'm not going to lie. No more dragon-skin jackets for me though – keeping it feels so wrong when there are hundreds in St. Mungo's and families decimated by the Dark. I split it evenly among the charities that have sprung up since the fall. St. Mungo's of course, and then there's the Orphans of War Fund and a few others I'm forgetting…

No, none of those looks. I don't do it because I'm a good person, I promise. During the war did you see us giving it all away? Of course not, but the Battles changed all of us. We all feel guilty for having more than the clothes on our backs, since at least we still have backs to put clothes on.

Here's my first customer. Oh no, it's Colin's brother, again. We struck up a friendship of sorts when ours were both taken by the war, poor little squirt needed someone I guess. His parents are still on denial, still grieving – the mother won't touch Colin's room, as if he just hasn't come home from Hogwarts yet. It creeps Dennis out, and I guess it would me too, especially since we shared a room. None of those looks!

"The usual, Dennis?"

"Sure, George. One Ton-Tongue Toffee. I'll have a whole box soon enough!"

He seems genuinely excited, but I can only fake a smile, a chuckle. He'll be able to have swollen tongues for weeks if he wants, but I know he'll split them with Colin, leave them on the little grave they have for him (everything in that family's little, I swear). I can't say anything, I do the exact same thing with him, split everything, even the profits from the shop. They all sit in the back at the end of each day and I use them to repair the Burrow, things he would have done if her were still here. Some goes to the Owlery Fund – he always had a soft spot for animals, though you wouldn't have ever known it.

The rest sits in our vault. You thought I trusted people to leave them alone once they knew where there were? There's people still starving, still in hiding, afraid for their lives because not all the Death Eaters are gone. The property of the Dark families might have been taken, but they still have their ways.

"George? You okay?"

I snap back from thinking. "Yeah I'm fine. One sickle, Dennis."

He hands over his money and leaves the store. There are a few kids, even an adult, browsing the store. A boy comes up with a love potion – unusual, but hey, I'm not judging.

"Five sickles, bud."

"Is it two for a galleon? That's what the sign says."

"Sure, but that's a lot of potion. You using it on the same person? Make sure you read the side effects."

"Okay, sure."

He leaves too. This is how it always goes, Dennis then the day's sales, me talking to kids I know or not, sometimes an adult trying to impress their kid, bring them a few laughs. My mother thinks it's good for me, all this socializing, as she calls it. Doesn't seem like much, in reality, but if it makes her happy I'm glad to do it.

She walks in again. This is the third time in two weeks, and she doesn't have anyone to prank anymore. I haven't seen her for a while – I think she was at the Battle, maybe… I can't quite remember. Sure that if she was she took out some major players. She's quite a feisty one, I guess that's how I would describe her. I don't hold a candle, and that's saying something. And I thought redheads were supposed to be overly energetic and quick-tempered!

Is she going to buy something this time? She looked at love potions last time, gags the day before that, pets the time before that. Working her way around the store, I guess… seems like she started closest to the door, and now she's getting closer to the register. Maybe I'm just imagining it, but would she be flirting, maybe? I'm not sure, I haven't really seen any couples get together in the time since the fall of the Dark; family is the most important thing, and people keep to themselves and look strained, upset, most of the time. Not a lot of stuff for kids or young people to go to nowadays. Lots of buildings destroyed or dilapidated, owners on the continent or in the States, but occasionally you see a couple walking hand in hand.

I bet this is all my imagination, though, since I'm just half a person now, in most peoples' eyes, remember? They look at me and see a ghost walking next to me. But maybe not her, maybe not this time. We were always close, her and I, did a lot of stuff together, but it would be so weird, you know? Absolutely a betrayal, no doubt about that. But can you betray someone who's not even here anymore? I don't really know.

Oh shite, she's coming over. What do I say? Do I say hello?

Should I fix my hair or something, isn't that what you're supposed to do? This is a lot harder than it looks in 'Mione's movies.


	4. Chapter 4

Postbellum

Chapter 4

Angelina.

Her again, and she's coming to the counter. She's five steps away now, four, three, two…

She's putting something on the counter, but I can't look down, she's looking right at me.

"Hello? George?"

"Um, yeah, hi Ange."

"How are you?"

Well I obviously can't tell her the truth, can I? What do people usually like to hear? Well, they like to talk about how my ear looks better and Fleur's new baby. Sometimes there are condolences or congratulations on Ginny's acceptance onto the Harpies as soon as she graduates. Yeah, that last one's good, we can talk about Quidditch no problem. It's Angelina, after all.

"I'm good, the family's good, especially Ginny now that she got that pro Quidditch offer."

"Oh yeah, congrats on that! I knew that the Weasleys could play Quidditch, obviously, but the Harpies? That's impressive."

"Yeah, we're really proud, even though she is just our kid sister."

I chuckle a little, she laughs. Now what? Do I wait for her to ask another question? Shite, the silence is getting too long…

"How's your mum? She doing okay? I know with babysitting for Bill and Fleur and still taking care of some of you at home, she's probably working herself to death."

"Doesn't she always? I try to make sure she rests, and 'Mione and Ginny look after her and help her with the baby and the house. But she wouldn't know what to do with a free moment of time even if she got one."

We both chuckle again. Ange knows my mother well, having come over lots of times with the Quidditch team during the summer, and of course enjoying the delicious Weasley food. Mum really took to her, approved of her and Fred going to the ball together, was disappointed when it didn't go much further than that.

God, this feels weird, even though it didn't go any farther.

"Well, anyways, what do we have here? Extendable Ears?"

"Yeah, I figured they'd be useful for one of my cousins, she's trying to see what her big brother's up to when his room door is closed. I guess I shouldn't be encouraging her, but I just can't help it."

"Maybe you should buy a pair for me, too. I could stuff it right in where the old one was, and everything would be good as new, right?"

Oh that was awful, why did I make an ear-joke? I am so bloody stupid, that was awful! She looks like she can't decide if she should give me a pity laugh or not, oh that was so bad.

Wait, is she laughing? Hold on, was that actually funny? Not my best work in the joke department. This has got to just be her making me feel better… but she really does look like she's enjoying it. Well, nothing to do now but go with it.

"Well don't kill yourself on a bad joke."

I smile awkwardly at her, and she smiles back, that gorgeous smile that used to make me get a fluttery heart feeling whenever I saw it. Wait…

It's still there. That was it, I'd know it anywhere, the fluttery feeling. Oh no. That's not a good thing at all. What do I do now? She's looking at me again, is it my turn to say something?

"Well, I have to get going, George. How much are these?"

"Two galleons for you, Ange. Hey, what are you doing tomorrow? Still going to be around?"

"Yeah, sure, why?"

"Well… would you want to do something, maybe? Go somewhere? Wherever you want, of course, it doesn't matter to me."

"Um, sure, yeah, that sounds great. Meet here at about six?"

"That's perfect. Here's your ears. See you tomorrow!"

She smiles and walks out. That was eight different kinds of awkward, but apparently it worked, at least. Did it work? I think so, but are we going on a date? Is that what's going to happen? Or does she think we're just friends?

I need to focus, I've still got work to do… there's a line of five people that look a little disgruntled at having waited for several minutes for no reason. I apologize, explain we were catching up, as I bag wizbangs and candies and even a pygmy puff. It's like this for hours, a steady trickle of customers, the ringing of the cash register, until I close the doors at 7 and start closing down.

I feed the pygmies, organize samples, clean up the vomit buckets and sweep up a broken container of Peruvian darkness powder. I record the day's sales and organize galleons, sickles, and knuts, fill a few bags for Fred and a few for me and decide where I'll donate them.

Two bags of galleons to the hospital, one for the orphans, and one of Fred's for the owlery. The rest from the week go to Mum and Dad, I'll take those to Gringott's on my rounds. This is the scariest part of the week, delivering the charity money… I've been jumped more than once by a desperate wizard or one of the remaining dark wizards. It's a shame, but the Ministry has almost all security personnel hunting down the dark families or members of Voldemort's gang.

I still can't believe they let Harry start immediately. Well, actually I can, he is himself after all. But he's so unprepared, according to Ron and Hermione. He can never remember the fine points of dueling or the spells that help you sneak up on someone. He just barrels in and tries to disarm the enemy, not having done his research beforehand. It's almost as if he wants to be killed… I don't blame him, he lost so many people in the last few years. Lupin was particularly hard on him, as he was the last of his parents' friends.

Thank goodness for Kingsley and Dad. They saved him, I think. They showed him the Auror office, gave a description of the duties, let him join without the necessary NEWTS so he didn't have to go back to Hogwarts for his last year. Ron's in training, since they thought he'd be good for Harry. He didn't have to go back, either – only Hermione, of course, but she just graduated and was instantly hired to the Ministry. She wants to do some sort of office job, become head of one of the departments, maybe. I really need to listen better when she goes on about her work, but it's hard to keep focused when she doesn't shut up for twenty minutes or more at a time.

Ginny graduated too. It's so hard for me to realize she's not just my awkward little sister anymore. She's beautiful and mature and intelligent, and she's so good for Harry. Oh, who am I kidding, she's still that little kid at heart, and she always will be to me. I might hex her when I get home, it's been a while. Harry might be visiting though – oh well, he'll just laugh along with us. She can fight for herself, after all. Faced down Bellatrix for two whole minutes of dueling before Mum got there. Tough as nails, that one. Glad I helped make her that way; I still swear it was all her brothers' teasing that made her so quick to defend herself and strike back, and that made her a great Quidditch player.

I haven't played since the Battle, even though Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Charlie will all play a game when they're home. Hermione and I sit together and watch, keep score and try to officiate. They always try to get me to play, goading until 'Mione or Ginny gives them one of their looks. It just wouldn't be the same without him, and they realize that, even though they've told me privately that it might help me forget about things for at least a little while. I always say the same thing – that I'm not ready.

I don't think I'll ever be ready to play without him.


	5. Chapter 5

Postbellum

Chapter 5

Where is she? Shouldn't she be here by now? Or am I just super early? I wonder if my hair looks okay, it was doing a really weird sticking-up thing earlier, and I tried to wet it down but gave up. Mum made me wear this awful dress robe, but I sneaked a jumper out underneath it. I won't be Ron at the Yule Ball, he almost died of embarrassment.

Oh no, tell me I'm just having a nightmare. I grabbed the wrong jumper, it's one of his old ones, and she's bound to realize it… and I can't wear those awful robes, and now she'll think that I'm trying to be him. That's so strange, she'll never go out with me again if she thinks I'm either insane or making some sick joke by impersonating my dead twin.

Is that her? Wow, she really looks beautiful, with her braids all pulled back like that…

Breathe, just breathe. Slow down and think, breathe. She's walking this way, okay, that's great. We'll just go inside the restaurant, and have a good time, and everything will be fine. Don't worry about your hair or your jumper, just about her and her smile and those eyes…

Nope, don't get all mushy, just focus on greeting her, opening the door for her, here we go.

"Hey Angelina, how are you?"

"I'm absolutely great, and you?"

What do I say now? I think I'm fine, do I say that? She's looking at me like I need to say something.

"Yeah I'm good too, been busy is all. Shall we go inside?"

"Yeah, I'd like that."

She smiles right at me, brilliant and beautiful and sweet, like she's looking into me and whatever's there makes her happy. And in that moment I forget, just for a second, that I am only half a man.

"Fred, quiet down! Your mother is working down here!"

Angelina looks up from her papers and pushes short hair behind her ear. I still remember her with long braids, pulled back on a broom or hanging loose as she slept. Her eyes are the same, though she has tiny lines now, laugh lines of course. I am still a bit funny, or at least I like to think so. The business is still here, and Ron helps me run it now. It's great to have a partner again, and he (and Hermione) have helped me come up with new formulas for my ideas.

Roxanne barrels down the stairs after Fred II, screaming that he took one of her toys, her little broom, I think. I made it specially for her when she caught a fluttering snitch before she could walk. She'll probably be brilliant at Quidditch like her mother, even though Ange swears that it's my family's genes that did it, not hers.

Roxanne's hair is fluffy, unruly, and bouncy, and Fred's has tight curls like Angelina's, but his eyes are his uncle's. It took me so long to get used to it, like he had come back to haunt me, to remind me that he was still here, that I wasn't able to keep forgetting him by holding Ange. But now, I see that little Fred's eyes are twinkling, laughing, that they're happy. Fred's happy, and that's what he wanted me to know. He's still causing mischief, wherever he is. Probably teamed up with Prongs and Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail, whoever they are.

And I'm sure that Fred II will be just like us, despite all the grief it will give his mother. I wonder how many howlers he'll get, like we did from Mum? She'll secretly love it, I bet. And if she gets all flustered I'll just get the pleasure of reminding her that she fell for a prankster like our son.

We did talk about the Yule Ball, and about him. It was a year after that first date, after our anniversary dinner at the same spot. She asked me if I'd ever thought about it, if I remembered it, and I said of course. She told me that he wouldn't have minded after I was silent for a few minutes, told me that she didn't see us as one and the same. I told her that I felt like everyone saw me as a broken thing, as a half, as nothing now that I'm alone.

And she said no. She said that I was the strongest, the kindest, most whole man she had ever met, and she said, for the first time, that she loved me.

And for the first time since the Battle, I felt free.


End file.
